1922 2011
by bkgrl
Summary: The 80s dance, Rebekah drinks too much, Stefan rambles and both remember a time when they cared.


**A/N: This is a future excerpt out of INCYAL, but really it could stand as a one shot by itself. **

Mystic Falls

2011 AD

He danced with her, for the entirety of thirty seconds, to the song by The Cure, before retiring back to behind his table. It was sad really, her dancing around in her bowler hat and Koala corsage. The music of this generation was mediocre, filled with angst. And Stefan seemed to be paying her no more attention than what was absolutely necessary for him to appear as if he were interested.

_Boys of Summer_ blared over the speakers, as Rebekah continued to kick the red balloons around the gym floor.

**I never will forget those nights, I wonder if it was a dream.**

"I've met Don Henley," he called out. As if she knew or cared who he was_._

Please let this not be another story about him and Lexi. She couldn't take one more. For a man that was trying to manipulate a White Oak Stake from her, he was going about it in all the wrong way. She'd expected something a little grander, perhaps a speech about some mysterious recovered feelings- no memories rather, from their time together in 20s.

She'd thought that he'd attempt to recant his earlier remarks of disinterest or at the very least, dance with her for more than a minute. Instead he diddled away on his little machine or plied her with stories about some dead female vampire that he'd had a sexless relationship with throughout the whole of the last nine decades.

They never used to be this way. Sometimes she didn't know what was worse, the fact that he had forgotten most of their time together (that it probably only came back to him in brief flashbacks) or that she'd remembered, when he'd been spared. Even in a box for the past ninety years, it had stung.

She was always too sentimental. Just below her lovely façade of crazy, ruthlessness, (no rather, selfishness) there was always the seventeen year old girl, for the past 900 years now a woman, waiting for a time when it would be right. When she'd care for someone and it wouldn't be a mistake.

As she looked over at Stefan, she could hear the shallow notes of blues drifting through her mind, over the guitar reverberating off the gym walls. She could smell the aftershave he'd worn ninety years ago and still remember the smile he'd give her the morning after, what he smelled like on her sheets.

**Remember how you made me crazy? Remember how I made you scream? I don't understand what happened to our love?**

But as clearly as she could remember what he was spared, she was reminded of how it felt when she'd come back from death to find that he'd moved onto some pathetic little girl, the shadow of her brothers' doppelgangers. Would she never be free of Tatia and the damn curse she'd put upon their entire family? It wasn't fair. But then again, nothing ever was.

"What did you find to drink?" she questioned, bored.

He held out the bottle, not even bothering to look up from his task.

Did he really have to do that? Was that his plan: to avoid her all night? Make her think that he cared enough to be there but somehow find a way to not actually have to spend any time with her? Rebekah didn't know what was worse; this believing her to be stupid enough to fall for his little farce or the fact that she so badly wanted it to be real.

_Come now, Stefan, _she thought, _At least try to pretend._

"Black Velvet?" a disgusted, skeptical look passed over her face.

"It was all I could find."

Opening the bottle she smelled the contents- her first reaction was well placed. It reminded her of modern day cleaning products. But who was she to be picky? If they were going to continue this charade, should she not at least have a drink?

Henley crooned in the background: _Babe I'm gonna get you back, I'm gonna show you what I'm made of…_

She rolled her eyes, taking pulls from the bottle as if it were water. Stefan's attempts at feigning indifference over his lost little, brunette pop tart was pathetic, his desperation palpable- even in his song choices.

"Lexi loved the Eagles…"

Rebekah groaned, taking another pull from the bottle. There wasn't nearly enough left to sustain her through another trip down Stefan's memory lane. Could they not just spend time together without him babbling about some other woman? Part of her was, at the very least, relieved that it wasn't Caroline.

He was about to continue when she interrupted him, "What was so special about this Lexi anyhow?"

As she felt the warm rush from the cheap liquor rush through her veins, she closed her eyes, her head dropping back, arms fanned out.

Yes, this is what she wanted: more of this. Rebekah wanted to forget. Have a moment of peace that didn't revolve around saving or killing the women of her brothers' past. A short while when she could just be free. Where something, anything, could be about her, even if Stefan wasn't a willing participant.

"Take your pick."

_That's it Stefan, keep yammering on. Just be a little quieter about it, if you please. _Drowning him out, she continued her private dance party. To hell with Kol and Klaus, their little struggle for control. She had the headstone and therefore all the time in the world.

Stefan could go to hell as well, with his exhausting newfound personality, his obsession with Elena and friendship with Caroline. She didn't need any of it.

"She was crazy, she did whatever came to mind. She was unapologetic. She just didn't give a shit about what anyone thought."

Her hat slid further down her forehead, her hair no longer looking pristine. Rebekah didn't give a shit about what anyone thought. She'd get to the cure long before Klaus. She'd watch him pander to her, instead of the other way around. She'd take it and not care anymore about how any of them felt about it.

So what if he thought she was weak, if they all thought she was weak: Klaus, Kol and even Elijah, although he'd never say it. She'd be free of them, free of it all. And she wouldn't look back.

"We met in '23," Stefan continued. She hadn't even noticed it, but he'd stopped tinkering with his toy, instead watching her as she danced like she didn't have an audience. Eyes closed, feet kicking at the balloons, bottle dangling from her finger tips.

This was how he remembered her. Whatever mess of flashbacks he had left of that year they'd had together, most of them good, many quite unredeemable by his new moral code, he'd still always get a strange feeling when jazz filtered through the back of his mind. The image of Rebekah swaying to every note, the feeling of her lips on his neck, foreheads pressed together, illegal gin and whiskey pumping through their veins with fresh blood.

She was right, they hadn't cared then. They drank too much, killed too easily and screwed like it was their last day on earth. He remembered it, feeling free and everything being so blissfully uncomplicated. When Katherine was an afterthought, Elena wasn't even an egg and his life made sense. He acted on instincts. He was finally living without the curse of Damon following behind him, trying to defile everything he touched, ruin Stefan's life, just so he could feel a little better about himself.

He and Rebekah would go rounds with each other, then, without hesitation or excuse. They indulged every fantasy and desire the other had. And afterward, there was never shame, never the need for apologies. When they fought, it was vicious and when they made up it was worth it to look forward to their next spat. He never worried about Rebekah being hurt too easily, because he knew she could and would snap him as quick as he'd try her.

"Is that so?" she mumbled, clearly not listening.

She never was great at hiding her feelings, maybe just because she didn't bother. Why lie, when you thought you were invincible? Or perhaps that was just Rebekah? She'd never bothered to lie to him then and she didn't now.

He couldn't always remember but part of him knew they were in love back then. They may have never said it but Rebekah surely didn't forget and the Stefan that was a little less repressed, weigh laid with guilt and Elena's never ending disappointment in him, hadn't forgotten it either.

"Yeah, she reminded me of someone."

At the time he hadn't remember whom; but Lexi always gave him a terrible feeling of déjà vu. One that for the entirety of their time together, he'd never been able to place but it always left him with a sense that something was missing. Although he'd fostered their friendship, there had never been anything more, except for once, in the winter of '87, New York after a Knicks game. He'd kissed her as they pushed through throngs of postgame patrons. It was quick and Lexi laughed it off thinking it a high after watching their team win. He'd never told her he did it because he felt he had to, that if he didn't he'd always wonder why it felt like it would be natural to do so. In the end it didn't feel natural. It was awkward and suddenly very misplaced.

However watching Rebekah, the nostalgia was back: the 20s, Lexi and that kiss. He had kissed her, because she reminded him of Rebekah. Only when it happened he knew it then, even though he couldn't remember why, that his friend wasn't the right blond.

It was annoying how his life seemed to consist of chasing the memory of someone before, then trying to justify his intentions later. He'd convinced himself whatever feelings he had for Elena had nothing to do with Katherine. Stefan rationalized that his connection with Caroline in the beginning was simply misplaced grief over Lexi, only later to realize it was Emily. And now it occurred to him that every inclination he'd ever had of being drawn to Lexi revolved around lingering forgotten memories of Rebekah.

**A little voice in my head said don't look back you can never look back. I thought I knew what love was, what did I know? Those days are gone forever. I should just let them go.**

"This song isn't that terrible," she responded, only to have her comments met with a prompt change in the playlist, as U2's _All I Want is You_, picked up where Don Henley left off.

Taking the bottle from her, he eyed the quarter that was left of the nearly full bottle he'd taken from the teacher's lounge. "You never were one for sharing."

She spun, tartly replying, "I was parched during story time."

"Nice to know I had an attentive date."

She laughed, as they passed the bottle back and forth between them, "Is that what this is?"

"What else would you call it?" Leaving him the bottle, her head dropped, feet sliding on the old wooden floors as she attempted to find a rhythm with the off pace song.

"A distraction."

"A distraction? From what?" Stefan was always a terrible liar. With her back turned to him, she smiled.

_Oh, so we are still continuing this game? s_he thought, internally snickering. "Whatever it is that is happening outside this gym that you likely don't want me to know about."

Setting the empty bottle on the ground, his leather jacket crackled as he reached out, catching her arm while she still awkwardly tried to dance to the chorus.

"Here, you're doing it wrong," he corrected.

Turning, he guided her arms up around his neck, almost mechanically before pulling her closer, hands on hips. "This song is meant to be a slow dance."

She looked at him unimpressed, inwardly smirking, _So this was his plan? A sappy slow dance, in an empty high school gym? _It seemed children like Elena had ruined his creativity. The little doppelganger, likely would have swooned at something so pathetically clichéd.

They'd tried dancing together earlier but it was strange, too familiar. He had to stop. This is why he didn't dance anymore. '22 at Gloria's Bar they used to all night long. After he left Chicago it was never the same again; dancing felt forced, uncomfortable. When Elena would beg him at school functions, he'd complied because he knew she wanted it so badly and if he didn't, Damon would be more than willing to step in.

Dancing with Rebekah was beyond uncomfortable, so unnerving because it was natural. Years of forgotten muscle memory, making him remember a little too keenly how things were between them, making it all that much more difficult to try to kill her later.

_"_Why would you think I was trying to distract you?"

"I haven't quite decided at the moment, but there is one thing I'm sure of…."

"Yes and what is that?"

"Whatever it is, it somehow, someway, involves Elena."

"Can I not do something that isn't motivated by Elena?"

Warily she looked at him, "No Stefan."

"And why is that?I thought we weren't caring anymore."

"We?" Rebekah laughed, "There is no 'We' here Stefan. This only further proves my point."

"Which is….?"

"Everything you do somehow revolves around some woman. First there was Katherine and your entire Ripper phase, which I rather preferred and then for a time, me. Which you quickly forgot thanks to my brother. From your incessant stories, I would guess this Lexi for a while; perhaps even Caroline at times, but now, most certainly Elena."

The existence she painted was pathetic but even in his semi state of denial, he recognized as true.

"You never asked, who Lexi reminded me of," he prompted, changing topics.

"You'll have to excuse me; I blacked out the last ten minutes of your stories."

She was such a bitch sometimes. That he'd missed, if he was honest with himself. The bite followed by a kiss.

"Are you not curious?"

No, she wasn't because it would likely lead to another story she'd be forced to listen to without the aid of Black Velvet. Another woman from Stefan's past that he clung to for dear life, elevated to saintly prestige.

"This song is quite long."

"Six minutes…" he answered, before continuing, "So you're not interested at all?"

She rolled her eyes, "No, but I'm sure you'll tell me anyhow."

He choked back the urge to say something equally as snide, parts of his memory remembering their fights from years ago, how they began and how they'd always end. But they'd already had their ending last night.

"You," he replied to his begrudging audience.

What did it matter anyhow if he told her? Matt was on his way and in less than an hour Rebekah would be staked. At least for her participation in the whole thing, he'd reward her with honesty and unburden himself in the process.

Surely this was the trap that he'd been trying to so delicately set, hoping she'd walk straight into it. It was too well placed to be anything but.

"Oh really?" she replied, sounding disinterested.

"Yes," a strange looked passed over his face, unsure of what to say next, his mouth opening as he tried, half a word coming out before he stopped, lips pressing back together.

"Out with it Stefan, your evasiveness is ruining my dance."

"About last night…"

"You want to talk about sex? Funny I don't remember us ever needing to discuss it in the past," she kicked at the balloon that had found its way between them, perhaps she should have kept it there.

"I think about it sometimes. I know you think I can't remember or that I forgot or whatever… but sometimes I do remember…." his voice dropped off at the end, as he looked around the gym, at anywhere but her.

The moment couldn't have been more trite, corsage and all, dancing and even secret confessions. The Rebekah that had survived a millennium wasn't moved in the slightest, she was in fact inwardly cringing at the sappiness of it all. But the girl that loved a little too easily, who allowed herself to continue to be used because she needed the affection, the one that thought she was in love at Gloria's Bar in 1922 that knew better now but still wanted the cure, felt something.

"I think about Theodore Roosevelt sometimes and he's been dead, according to Elijah, for at least five decades."

Stefan responded with that odd smile he'd make sometimes, that was half way between a grin and grimace. He cleared his throat, before finally looking at Rebekah, "Yes, well you didn't spend a year with Roosevelt. You weren't compelled to forget he existed."

"What is it that you are saying?"

What was it that he was saying? That he remembered? Who cared? Why did it matter now? They couldn't take back ninety lost years. He couldn't live with himself today, if he was the same person he was then. But that didn't change how he'd felt, dancing in that bar, in downtown Chicago, years ago.

"You're wrong…. I think for a while there, when were together, we cared, you and I."

It might have been a trap; Rebekah might have seen it coming, but part of her wanted to pretend that it was all true and not just another lie. Suspicious, trying to appraise his intentions, she questioned, "You mean how you care still for Elena?"

The look he tried to hide, at the mention of her name, gave him away quicker than any confession. Would the Salvatore brothers, Stefan in particular, ever stop trying to protect their pathetic little imitation of Tatia?

She would have preferred the lie at this point. Maybe she was foolish and weak. Maybe she did love too easily and often quite recklessly. But still, she'd rather trade a few moments of fake bliss than an eternity of steady truths.

Finally when he seemed to have composed himself enough to attempt a rebuttal, mouth opening, ready to spew some denial about his feelings for Elena Gilbert; Rebekah beat him to it, "Shh…"

She pulled him closer, like a real teenage girl at a high school dance, what she'd never be, and murmured, "Stop…. You'll ruin my dance."

It might have been an awkward song, she might've been wearing a cheesy Koala corsage, his leather jacket may have smelled like moth balls and heavily layered cologne and it might all be part of an elaborate ruse to get the White Oak Stake from her, but Rebekah didn't care.

Closing her eyes, she listened to the rest of U2's song and pretended for the last two minutes, on a scuffed gym floor in a dinky little southern town, that she was with someone who actually cared about her and that she wasn't just a replacement, part of an endgame, a hold over until something better came along.

She pretended that she was happy and they were still in love at Gloria's Bar.


End file.
